


Unsubtle

by beejohnlocked



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, a bit of humor in this too I can't help it, but it doesn't matter because he turns john on either way, he is really not, sherlock thinks he's slick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 21:44:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5886412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beejohnlocked/pseuds/beejohnlocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a little thing I wrote for tumblr's smut Sunday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unsubtle

The door to our flat shuts and he's coming toward me.  
His eyes are full of intent.  
I remember to breathe.  
The corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk. It's soft, knowing, and more than a little teasing.

"Do you need help with your jacket?" The voice is a lilt, both happy and fully aware of what is about to happen.

My hands spasm on my buttons; I work to keep my breathing steady and unaffected: "I'm fine."

But John is suddenly behind me. His body has snaked up behind mine so that there is not an inch between the two of us. There is one particular part of him that is drawing interest at this point in time.

John's blatant arousal, hard and insistent against my thigh, is proving itself to be quite distracting. His hands slowly travel up my chest and grip my lapels on either side.

"You sure?" he says as he slowly peels the blazer off of me. My cock has already been interested up until this point, but John's tone and touch harden it to a painful degree, a drop of pre-ejaculate clinging to the tip within my pants. I can feel it. It's desperation to explode. My attempt to keep myself calm isn't working well.

"John-"

"I've been watching you all night, Sherlock. I know what you've been doing." John's voice is filled with amusement rather than admonishment as his fingertips skate up my torso, grazing my nipples and making me gasp, until he reaches my collar and deftly begins to unbutton my shirt. "You've been _teasing_  me, haven't you?" John gently bites my shoulder through the material.

Clever John. Of course he'd noticed. I couldn't help myself. He looked so sexy at the crime scene today, hair still windblown from his morning jog and jeans snug in all the right places, eyes lit up in admiration, unconsciously licking and biting at his lips. I just _had_ to make him want it. So perhaps I bent over a little more than was necessary. I may have left an extra shirt button undone. It's possible I took off my scarf, claiming it was too hot, and touched my neck once or twice. And just maybe I let out a few soft sighs during my investigation, and when I had my 'aha' moment, maybe I let out a surprised sound. I didn't want to be too obvious, but sometimes John can be a bit slow on the uptake. It so happened that by the time I solved the case, I was turning _myself_ on. When I finished my concluding deductions and looked to John, I saw how much his eyes had darkened and knew I was in for it. And I must admit, a little thrill ran through me at the thought.

John is finished with the front of my shirt. He undoes the cuffs and nearly tears the thing off of me. I should remind him how expensive it is, but I can't be arsed when my cock is a stone inside of my trousers.

John comes back around, lays one hand against my chest, and slowly backs me into the closed door. "Were you enjoying yourself out there? Parading yourself around, showing off how beautiful you are? Showing me how much you're aching for me to make you come so hard you forget your own name? Hmm?"

For a moment, I am unable to answer. I feel more precome sliding down my cock. I'm leaking quite a lot now, but I attempt to make my voice as aloof as possible.

"Oh really, John? You think _I_ am the one gasping for it right now?" I look pointedly down at the bulge in John's jeans, so large and hard that I am half expecting it to burst forth, tearing the denim and waving a victory flag. A hysterical giggle wells up at the thought, and John responds by pressing me into the door and rubbing his erection against my hip. My giggle immediately turns into desperate groan.

John smiles. "Oh yes, I think that you are. Did you think you were being subtle, Sherlock? Fondling your own neck and chest? Crawling around on all fours and wiggling your arse in the air? Moaning every 20 seconds like you were coming in your pants? A cat in heat has more discretion."

I feel mortified at how obvious I was being, and if anything that only works to make me more aroused. I'm ready to go off like a rocket at any moment, and John hasn't even gotten a hand around me yet. He seems to be in a similar state, a haze of desperation clouding his features.

"John, touch me. Now. Please." God, I'm whimpering as he undoes my trousers and pants and yanks them to the floor, my ankles and feet still trapped inside. John divests himself of his shirt and pulls his jeans and boxers down, his heavy length bobbing, too large to point directly upward, instead pointing at me. Before I can help myself, I'm on my knees and putting my mouth around him, sucking and swallowing and tonguing him. I'm too far gone to put any effort into technique, I need to feel him come down my throat, and I need to feel it now.

John moans hoarsely. "Sherlock, your mouth-my God!"

I hum in agreement, earning another pleasured grunt from John. He puts his hand on my head and I groan encouragingly. _Fuck my face john please I want it I need it please-_

He must realize my sounds are in the affirmative because he grabs two handfuls of my hair and _thrusts._  Animalistic, quickly, punishingly, his cock hitting the back of my throat, going down my throat, cutting off my air, and yes this is perfect, John's moans are rising in pitch, growing desperate, his hips are losing their rhythm, then suddenly he stiffens, he gasps my name, sounding nearly surprised, and his hips still as his orgasm begins, his cock pulsing again and again, thick ropes of come streaming into my mouth and down my throat, his groans euphoric, full of relief, his body losing its tension bit by bit, until he sinks to the floor with all the grace of a wet noodle.

He looks at me, his expression one of bliss. "You...how...fuck, SHERLOCK...amazing...I can't even...my brain...my cock...wow," he pants, slurring like he's coming around after some powerful anesthesia.

I've already got my hand wrapped around myself, jerking quickly and efficiently, fully intending to come all over John's heaving chest, when he has other ideas. Knocking my hand out of the way, he wraps his own around me and pulls slowly, methodically. I make a sound of frustration. "John, for the love of Christ-"

"You teased me for hours, Sherlock. I think you can handle a few minutes of the same, don't you?" John's smirk is back, damn him. Medium grip, base to tip, thumb circling the head, back down again, over and over and over. It's maddening. I whimper and writhe my hips. I try to thrust, but I'm still against the door with the bottom half of my legs trapped in my trousers; I've got no leverage.

"John, PLEASE! Please make me come" I know I'm whining, but I can't help it. It feels like I've been hard half the day and John knows my body well enough to keep it going the rest of the night if he wants to. I think I may die if he does.

But John's grip suddenly tightens and his pace picks up. I moan gratefully and grip his waist. With his free hand he massages my perineum. Christ, that's it. Then he leans over and takes my nipple into his mouth, nibbling at it as I begin to shake apart at the seams.

I cry out raggedly as my orgasm hits, come shooting all over both John and myself. I paw at him desperately as I feel pleasure so intense I nearly black out. He works me through it, the noises he makes both encouraging and soothing, then gently brings me back to earth as I collapse down onto my side. He removes my shoes, then peels off my ruined pants and trousers, before following suit.

I watch him through a barely conscious haze as he brings a warm, damp flannel and cleans the both of us off. He goes to the fireplace and gets a fire going, then moves to the bedroom, returning with pillows and blankets that he lays out next the fire, before returning to my side.

John looks down at me and chuckles. "C'mon, you." John always seems to really enjoy how sleepy and generally useless I am after an orgasm. He helps me up and guides me over to the fire, now warm and crackling and pleasant. He lays me down and covers me up before tucking in next to me.

"That was amazing," he whispers.

"Unggg," I manage back.

"I love you."

"Mm, m'too."

I think he kisses me goodnight before I am swept into unconsciousness, but I cannot be sure. 


End file.
